


Keeping Company

by CanadianGarrison



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Adultery, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:11:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianGarrison/pseuds/CanadianGarrison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is set between seasons 2 and 3, so it does not contain specific season 3 spoilers but it does assume you know where the characters are before season 3 starts. </p><p> </p><p>With the Musketeers off at war, Constance and Treville find themselves keeping company. Sex ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Company

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to my #smuttyladies for your encouragement.

Constance knew it would be hard when the men rode off to war, leaving her with the few who were too old, or too young, or simply unable to fight. She and Charles had been living in her house, of course, but with him gone the place seemed full of her first husband; there weren't enough new, happy memories yet to drown out the thoughts of Jacques sitting at the table, or trudging up the stairs to bed, or (as was most common) telling her she was a foolish woman who should focus more on housework and less on Musketeers. Well. She very nearly was a Musketeer herself, at this point, and there was only one place where she could imagine being: the garrison.

When she arrived, Captain Treville — Minister Treville, now, and she needed to remember that — was nowhere to be found, but there were new stable boys who needed to be told where the fresh hay was kept, and a cook who thought tripe was an excellent choice three meals out of four, and a quartermaster who couldn't see the holes in his own uniform. There was plenty of work for Constance here; she would be well occupied until her men returned.

* * *

Treville found himself thinking often of his brother-in-arms and former Captain, Athos's father, Laurent d’Achille de la Fere. Had Laurent felt this driving urge to do something, anything, when his men were out on a mission and he was forced to remain behind? But this was war, and Laurent would be at the front leading his men, as Athos was surely doing. And Treville, who wanted nothing more than to ride with his brothers, even into the burning, screaming, destroying machine that was the Spanish army, Treville was obliged to remain in Paris and advise the petulant man-child who passed for King these days.

Not that Louis was all that bad, anymore, not really. But Treville had little patience for politics and intrigues, despite being more than capable of holding his own in that sort of company. He had enjoyed watching Queen Anne grow in strength and confidence, though, helping with little suggestions here and there but overall staying out of her way and focusing on his duty; advising the King while keeping a tenuous peace with Feron, and trying to ensure that the Red Guard didn't terrify those few citizens still remaining in Paris.

Still. Something was lacking, and although he would have been satisfied if he were off at war, battle wasn't the thing that he was missing…

* * *

It had taken a few weeks before he noticed that Constance was living at the garrison. In fact, Treville was required to move into the War Minister suite at the Louvre, and may not have noticed at all, except early one morning he walked into his former quarters to find Constance in bed, fast asleep. After the requisite shouts of surprise and subsequent apologies were taken care of, Treville had stepped outside while Constance dressed in her new Musketeers-style uniform, and then they sat down to breakfast together in the common room. There were a few injured Musketeers also eating, and the blacksmith’s boy, but they had most of the room to themselves.

“So,” Treville started, “I haven't had a chance to thank you for picking up the slack around here. I should've known you’d find some way to help the Musketeers, even when they're off at war and you're here in Paris. Place wouldn't be the same without you.”

Constance flushed, still unaccustomed to being praised for choices that flouted society’s rules about what was and was not appropriate for a woman of her station.

“I do like to keep busy,” she replied. “Wouldn't know what to do with myself otherwise; there's not much market for fine quality fabric and clothing while the whole country’s on war rations.”

“Still,” Treville answered, “it means I can focus on my duties to the King without worrying what's happening here, or what my men will return to.”

“Our men,” Constance reminded him with a smile. “If not the rest of them, Charles at least belongs to me as much as he does to you.”

“You must miss him a great deal.”

That startled Constance out of her porridge — Treville wasn't prone to discussing feelings, his or anyone else's — but she was glad he'd said it, so she wouldn't have to. She just nodded, knowing he would understand.

“Maybe we can… keep each other company?” She knew he was busy, and that it wasn't proper for them to be seen together socially, but Constance was getting a bit lonely, with so few of her friends still in town, she had to offer.

Treville smiled at her from behind his cup of watered-down wine. “I would like that, very much. I haven't known many women like you, and I’d like to get to know you better than I already do.”

* * *

A few more weeks had passed since he and Constance had started ‘keeping company’, as she called it, and Treville had no idea how he would have survived without her. She listened while he ranted about Louis and Feron, offering suggestions that helped bring Treville closer to his goals while discreetly causing problems for his enemies. She made sure he ate regularly, without mothering him or making him eat things he hated. Most importantly, and more than anyone else could, she understood what it was like to be held back from joining the Musketeers in battle.

The only problem was that Treville also couldn't help see how beautiful she was when she berated a stable boy for sleeping while the horses needed seeing to, or how capable she was when she altered uniforms to fit new recruits just arriving from farmlands in the countryside. Or how well she comforted those same farmboys, so far away from home, full of anger and fear and so much like d’Artagnan had been when he arrived. The more Treville got to know Constance, the more he loved her. He was going to have to do something about that… But he had no idea what.

* * *

Constance had a lot of feelings. That was always true, but even more so now when her beloved Charles was so far away. They'd barely had the chance to begin their marriage before he rode off at the front of a long column of men, soldiers and supply wagons and more chaos than Constance liked to think the French army would allow. She missed him terribly, when she wasn't afraid for his life.

Compounding that was her growing attraction to Treville, accompanied by more guilt than she'd ever felt about betraying her vows to Jacques. Her first husband had treated her badly and they hadn't loved each other; Charles loved Constance more than anyone else and made sure she knew it, doing his best to please her in every way. He had only been gone a few months, and already she was looking elsewhere, though she hadn't acted on it…

Constance knew she should pull back from Treville, give herself room to be his friend but restrain her more heated desires. Somehow, though, she kept inviting him to visit, treasuring the nights where they sat up late talking about her work at the garrison, or poring over reports about the Musketeers off at war, or sometimes listening to Treville’s old stories about his own brothers-in-arms, Kitos and Reynard. If she stopped keeping company with Treville, who would she ever talk to?

Right now, in fact, Constance was on her way to the Louvre at Treville’s summons; she couldn't let herself think that it was tragic news, he would have delivered that in person instead of calling her to him, but she couldn't think of what else it could be.

When she found Treville in his office he was leafing through a dirty packet of papers, but he set them down and greeted Constance with a warm hug.

“I hope I haven't called you away from anything that couldn't wait,” he began, as Constance sat down in the ornate chair across from Treville’s own.

“Not at all,” Constance assured him. “But it was hard not to worry all the way here — what's so urgent that it couldn't wait until dinner? Or are you cancelling our plans again?” Treville had been so busy lately; he might not even eat if he didn't regularly come dine with Constance at the garrison.

“We have some letters from the front, including a very mysterious set from your very own husband. One for me, and” — a letter slid across the vast desk — “one for you. He says we should read them at the same time, but with no one else present.”

“Does he really,” Constance mused. “I suppose we'd better see what he's up to, then.” Her calm tone belied the surge of emotion Constance felt at hearing that Charles had taken the time to write and send a letter, especially from within the very heart of the war.

Constance leaned back in her chair, trying to breathe slowly as she opened the seal and unfolded the letter.

 

 

> _My dearest Constance,_
> 
> _I cannot express how much I miss you, except to say the feeling is eclipsed by my gratitude that you are far from here, far from the danger and fear and death that is everywhere around us. Know that I love you, and am doing all I can to make sure that my brothers and I return safe home to you._
> 
> _I think back to the morning when I left, how tender you were, how beautiful. How generous, when you told me to make sure that Athos and Porthos take care of me in all ways, and that I should do the same for them. Now that some time has passed since my departure, I can only hope that you and Treville are finding some time to take care of each other as well. I can't bear the thought of you being lonely while I'm so far away; I need to trust that you have his companionship, since you cannot have mine._
> 
> _Please follow your heart and remember that I will return to you, safe and whole, as soon as I may._
> 
> _All my love,_  
>  _Your Charles._

Flowery language; maybe Athos helped. The sentiment, however, was Charles through and through.

* * *

Treville looked at Constance when he finished reading the brief note d’Artagnan had sent him. _“Take care of my wife, please,”_ it read. _“While I can't be there to keep Constance safe and satisfied I rely on you to see to both.”_ That seemed fairly simple on the surface; surely d’Artagnan couldn't mean that Treville should… Constance was growing flushed as she read, biting her lip. What exactly did her letter say?

When she looked up at him her eyes were sharp in a way Treville had never seen before, as though Constance was considering him in a new light. And perhaps she was, at that.

“He asked me to take care of you, but I can't imagine why,” Treville began hesitantly, confidence returning as Constance’s gaze softened. “If anything, you've been taking care of me these past weeks.” She smiled at that, not contradicting him. “If… If at any time you want me to return the favour, in whatever way you please, I would be… delighted.”

“I could use a bit of caring for, myself,” Constance replied, and that was good enough, he was up and around the table and leaning down in one smooth motion, pausing just before their lips met, and Constance reached up to complete the kiss, all soft and warm until Treville tilted his head just right and she sucked his lower lip in, nipping it hard with her sharp little teeth.

Treville pulled back, smiled, licked his lips. “Anything you say.”

* * *

His mouth was amazing.

After days of kissing in stolen moments, Treville had spent the evening with Constance at the garrison, reviewing the ledger and ordering supplies. They ate while they worked, Treville back in his usual chair at the desk, Constance sometimes perching on the desktop at his side, sometimes moving around the room to tidy, or out into the garrison to get other papers and bring their dishes back to the kitchen. Eventually they had done all they could, and Treville had leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out under the desk with a wince.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he grumbled. “Won't be good for anything, before long.”

“Nonsense,” Constance scolded him, hopping back up onto the desk. “You said you'd take care of me, are you trying to get out of it?”

And that brought them to this — Constance on the desk, skirts flipped and scrunched up around her waist, Treville still in his chair, doing the most amazing things with his mouth that she had ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Not that she would put it that way when she eventually described it for Charles, of course.

Treville didn't hesitate or hold back, just dove right in, licking and kissing and she didn't know what else he was doing but she loved it. Charles had kissed her there before, of course, but he always seemed a bit nervous, afraid of hurting her or doing it wrong… Maybe it was his years of experience, she didn't know, but Treville was drawing little moans and sighs out of her almost effortlessly.

Constance leaned back, laying flat on the hard desk, spreading her legs a bit wider to let Treville nuzzle in. His tongue was moving so quickly, curling around her button and then flicking fast, fast, and she arched up towards him, chasing that spark of feeling, gasping when he sucked the little nub of flesh into his mouth. Then suddenly it was too much, and she pushed his head away with one hand, covering herself with the other. She was soaking wet!! Treville licked Constance’s fingers where they covered her entrance, growling a little, and then pulled back, looking up at her face from between her legs with heat in his gaze.

“Touch yourself for me. Show me — what you like, how you like it.” He was panting, face glistening with her juices. Constance did as he suggested, sliding her hand up and down, fingers parting around her button to stroke over the sensitive skin on either side, up and down, up again, and then dipping down even further. With two fingers she pressed in, feeling the hot flesh surround her fingers as she slid deep, then back out. She traced Trevilles eyebrows, then his nose, making sure to get his whole face sticky, so he would smell like her even after leaving the garrison tonight. It felt so wicked, as her hand returned to her body, followed by Treville’s gaze.

“But Minister,” Constance teased. “I thought you were supposed to be taking care of me! And now here I am, doing all the work. As usual, when you men are involved.”

“We can't have that,” Treville answered, leaning in to kiss and mouth at the delicate skin of Constance’s inner thighs. “Tell you what. You keep that little nub of yours busy,” he punctuated this with a delicate kiss to the fingers once again covering her, “and I'll see if I can't find some way to… make myself useful.”

With that, Treville licked his way down to her opening, running his tongue around and around her hole as she fingered her button, keeping out of her way but clearly trying to find her rhythm, and all the best places to lick her, too. His moustache and beard were scratchy but somehow it didn't hurt now, and Constance arched up again, seeking more of that feeling. Treville obliged, doing something to rub his bristly lips against her entrance, then licking, long, soothing laps. Constance kept rubbing, touching and pressing just the way she liked it, and then she was coming, muffling her cries with her clean hand as she grasped Treville’s short hair with the sticky one, rutting up against his face as she shook and trembled, not letting go until she had wrung every last bit of pleasure out of his truly amazing mouth.

“Now,” Constance said, shaky-voiced, as she began to sit up. “It's your turn.”

* * *

The theatre was nearly full, candlelight flickering over the throng of men standing in the parterre. Treville was seated with Constance in his box at the back of the long, narrow room, barely paying attention to the actors on stage. Getting Constance to join him tonight had been a bit of a production in itself; first he had to promise her that honest women did now attend the theatre, and then there were the questions of what to wear, how to get there, how to ensure nobody thought the fact that they were keeping company meant they were also committing adultery. Which, of course, they were. As vigorously and as often as possible.

With every breath he took, Treville was reminded of what he and Constance were secretly doing, despite public appearances to the contrary. When he arrived in a seldom-used carriage to collect Constance at the garrison, Treville was struck by her beauty and how confident she looked in her fashionable new dress. Once the the driver was instructed to take the long way and the curtain was shut tight, Constance leaned back in her seat and showed Treville exactly what was under those fancy skirts — nothing at all. She had writhed and moaned as Treville knelt on the carriage floor, ducked beneath her skirts and licked that dripping cunny until she spent all over him… Reliving it now was an excellent distraction from the play unfolding before their eyes, but Treville hadn't had a chance to spend before they'd arrived at the Hotel de Bourgogne, and his own arousal was was becoming a bit too noticeable for polite company. Or French theatre-goers, for that matter.

Constance kept glancing sideways at Treville; he was squirming in his seat like a schoolboy, unable to find a comfortable position. Every motion pressed his hard cock against his trousers, and even sitting still brought him Constance's scent. Constance finally rolled her eyes and produced a handkerchief from a hidden pocket, discreetly laying it out over his lap without ever looking away from the play. She withdrew her hand, and after a moment Treville realized that she was waiting for him. With a quick glance around, Treville confirmed no one was paying them any attention — they were seated at the back of the theatre and there was a half-wall in front of them, so it was only a question of what the nobles in other boxes could see, and that was not much indeed.

He unlaced his trousers and reached within, shifting slowly in his seat to draw his cock out of his clothes without dislodging the handkerchief hiding him from sight. As he escaped the confines of his trousers, Treville sighed, the uncomfortable pressure giving way to throbbing arousal. Was Constance truly going to do this, here? She had much more to lose if they were found out… But she was already reaching over, sliding her small hand under the cloth, grasping his cock firmly and stroking hard up the length of it.

Constance leaned towards Treville, turning her head slightly so she could whisper in his ear. “Do you think this is what Charles had in mind? I made him wait for ages while I was married to Jacques; he would've begged for my touch, but you didn't say a word.” She licked his earlobe, soft tongue sweeping out over his sensitive skin, stroking all the while. “But after the way you made me come, I find myself wanting to show you some… appreciation.” Constance swiped her thumb over the dripping head of Treville’s cock on every stroke, squeezing and working his length with her hard little hand as she whispered wickedly.

Treville settled back in his seat, rolling his shoulders and letting out a half-growled sigh. Strong fingers pulled and stroked and brought him closer and closer, and he licked his lips again, seeking her taste as he let the sensations wash over him, abandoning any attempt to follow the story being acted out before them.

“Feels good,” he murmured, softly enough that she could hear while hopefully no one else would. “Don't stop.”

Constance just smiled, her hand moving faster, tugging on his foreskin as she focused more on the head for a few minutes before resuming the long, steady strokes he had shown her.

“We'll do this when he's home, too,” Constance whispered. “I'll make Charles sit at the end of the bed while I stroke your cock, and just when you're about to spend I'll stop, take you in my mouth instead.” Treville had a hard time containing the groan her words inspired. He'd done many things, fucked many people in his years, but the idea of young d'Artagnan watching his own wife suck Treville’s dick was thrilling, inspiring. “Do you think he'll be impressed at how much I've learned? Or will he be so hard he has to fuck me then and there? Would you like that, filling me from both ends?” Treville couldn't help imagining the look on d'Artagnan’s face as they shared his good, gorgeous, giving wife, and then he was spending, spurting hot and wet all over Constance's hand and handkerchief.

“Apparently you would.”

* * *

Constance couldn't see anything outside, it was too dark, but her gaze kept returning to the open window. She had to keep quiet, so very quiet, or the sounds would carry and they'd be caught. Ever since she moved out of the Captain’s office and into these rooms downstairs, Treville had enjoyed teasing Constance, working her up while she chewed on the palm of one hand to hold the sounds in. Even now, two fingers oiled up and working her ass open with long, smooth strokes, Treville kept talking while Constance struggled to stay silent. Or, as close as she could, though little gasps and moans escaped.

“I wish you knew how this feels, having a pretty young thing like you to play with. Nobody would believe it, even if we did tell them… The brilliant, beautiful wife of our star Musketeer, fucking an old soldier like me?” He pulled out entirely, shifted a bit on the bed, then came back, his fingers slippery with fresh oil. “I'd probably do well, gain respect in court. Wouldn't help you any. Or the Musketeers, either. But…” He sighed, fingers never stopping as they pushed the oil deep and deeper within her body. “But it would be glorious. I’d tell the King himself that I love you, and love fucking you, and the Church can go to hell.”

“Pretty dreams,” Constance sighed, careful to be quiet enough that her voice wouldn't go far. “Don't get distracted. You said it would be tonight.”

“That’s right, and I think you're just about ready.” Treville pressed deep once more and then slid his fingers all the way out, resting his hand on the curve of her ass, still playing with her hole with one callused fingertip.

“Then shut the window, Treville. You're going to make me come screaming your name.”

“That I am,” Treville replied, standing to do as Constance asked and then moving to a nearby basin of water, washing his hands before turning back to the bed. His eyes were sparkling, beard mussed and sticky, and standing there in his trousers and plain white shirt he looked as powerful and alive as Constance had ever seen him.

“Aren't you going to undress? Or are you going to fuck me from across the room, fully clothed?”

“First you want me to go shut the window, now you want me undressed and back in bed,” Treville grumbled, not letting the conflicting orders delay his efforts at stripping out of the remains of his uniform. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? We can — ”

“Just get over here!” Constance interrupted. “We've been over this. You can't fuck my cunt, it's too big a risk, and we finally got two fingers in my ass without it hurting, so come on. I'm ready.” Constance sat up on the bed as she spoke, but when Treville had finished undressing he pushed her gently over onto her front, stroking his rough, dry hands down her back, around her sides to her hips, all the way down her legs to her feet. The feeling calmed her, and Constance smiled against the pillow, turning her head and stretching a little to find the most comfortable spot.

Then Treville was over her, spreading her ass with one strong hand and pressing his cock against her, sliding it up and down over her hole. It felt so hot, dirty and thrilling, and Constance sighed, trying to relax and let him in.

“You like that?” Treville growled the question, a smile in his voice as he held Constance against the bed with one hand. “Like feeling how hard my cock is for you, how much I want you?” He didn't seem to expect an answer, just rocked gently, pressing against her hole and then pulling back, only to do it again, and again. Before long, the smooth motions had his cockhead pushing into her ass, stretching her around him, but he didn't go deep right away, despite Constance's wordless moans. “Mm, and I do,” Treville said with a sigh. “Want you so much, you're so tight. How does it feel? Is it good?”

“So good,” Constance managed to say, “so big! Keep going, but slow.” Treville did as she said, pulling away entirely to drip more oil on himself, then pressing back up against Constance's lightly-clenching hole.

“Here it comes, honey,” Treville warned, seating the tip of his cock right up against her ass and then using both hands to spread her wide. He pushed, steady and slow, pausing when the head popped in all the way. “That's good,” his voice was rough, but controlled. “Just — just stay relaxed, let me in.”

Constance did her best, focusing on being loose and open and welcoming, afraid of pain but not feeling any. When she nodded slightly Treville resumed his little rocking motions, sliding a bit deeper within her body each time, excruciatingly and perfectly slow. Treville sighed and let go of her ass, rumbling quietly and stroking one hand up Constance's back to her shoulder. “Still with me?”

“Yes,” Constance replied, soft but sure. “Doesn't hurt, but almost? I can feel how it would hurt, but I'm all right so far.” Treville hummed and kept going, one finger circling her rim, spreading oil to ease the friction, and Constance felt a bit more tension leave her body.

“Good, good. Your arse is like a fist around me — so tight and sweet.” His pace quickened, and Constance felt her skin prickle and heat as she flushed all over. They had talked about this incessantly, it seemed, but now that it was truly happening… It was intense, frightening, and Constance had never felt more vulnerable — or more powerful. As Treville's thrusts gained confidence Constance started carefully pushing back to meet him, feeling a jarring thud travel through her body every time he pushed all the way in. The slide back out didn't feel as good, but it still didn't hurt, didn't make her want to stop chasing those delicious sparks that flickered out from where their bodies were connected.

“Here — I think you're ready,” Treville said, and before she knew what was happening he had lifted Constance up by the hips, settled her on her elbows and knees, and resumed fucking her. The new position let Treville get one hand under Constance to rub and press her neglected cunt, but —

“No, it's — don't — ” She was almost too overwhelmed for words, but Treville understood enough, returning his now-sticky fingers to one hip.

“Too much?” He sounded concerned, and slowed the movements of his own body. Constance shook her head, gasping against the stretch deep within her, trying to think how to explain.

“I just — I want to feel this, feel everything about it. Can you come for me? I'm — I can tell, I'm almost done, need to stop soon, but I want — mmm — I want it.”

“All right, honey. If that's what you want, I can spend — ” Treville thrust deep in emphasis — “I can spend now, buried in your sweet little arse.” And he kept thrusting, pushing, taking her harder and harder, giving Constance exactly what she wanted. His cock was was so big, and she felt so full, so differently full, and of course it was different, she had never taken it up the ass before, but somehow she hadn't expected it to feel like this.

Constance was sweating and aching, still pushing back into every thrust, her mind floating as her body opened for him. “You're so good,” Treville half-whispered the words. “So perfect. I'm going to come soon. Are you ready?” He sounded wrecked, ragged, but his thrusts remained even and sure, heating her up from the inside, bringing Constance closer and closer to her own climax.

Constance nodded, gasped, smiled wickedly. “Oh! Oh yes, give it to me! And — and pay attention, we have to tell Charles everything!” That was enough for Treville, and he roared his pleasure as he spent deep within Constance’s ass, still fucking her, hands shaking on her hips. The sparks flying all through Constance coalesced into a flame, lighting her up from her toes to her fingertips, and before Treville had finished pumping her full of his spend she was coming too, clenching again and again around his cock, letting her body take its pleasure in a way she had never before known was possible.

Then they were done and he was pulling out, wiping them both off, laying down and cuddling Constance to his hairy chest.

“We'll have a lot to tell d'Artagnan, when he comes back to us,” he said.

“Yes…” Constance refused to consider the alternatives to d'Artagnan coming home. “Simply telling him might not be enough… We'll need to demonstrate, or he won't believe that you kept me satisfied.”

“Then we'd better keep practicing, hm?”

“Oh, indeed. After all, isn't that why we started keeping company?”

**Author's Note:**

> I've learned something about myself, which is that the editing process stalls me; I have a Portamis story that a lovely someone beta'ed and now I've just been sitting on it, convinced it's not worth figuring out how to deal with her amazing, helpful, insightful comments. As result, you get this — un-beta'ed, fairly raw, but I think it's still fun. 
> 
> Do you ever wonder what Constance calls d'Artagnan when they're alone? I know in the show we see her call him d'Artagnan when they're with others, but at home... I think she'd call him Charles, at least sometimes. Treville, though, he's always Treville. 
> 
> And what about "clit"? I went with alternative words for it here but would love to hear what you think, and about choices other people make.


End file.
